Skyfall - Cinema Review

'Isolated by choice, Bond lays his traps like Macaulay Caulkin in Home Alone and a grumpy Scotsman comes out of hibernation to make his mark on the franchise'

Before Skyfall plays to packed cinemas over this weekend, there will be a series of adverts. Beer, watches, phones, laptops, TVs, even a 007-branded aftershave. Bond (Daniel Craig) isn't just a man any more, he isn't even a 'property': he's a industry, with investment by numerous stakeholders for various gains and aims. If there's anything the last twenty-five years (and much shorter term) have taught us about established industries, it is this: they must adapt to survive. Stasis isn't enough. Growth, forward momentum and new ideas must all be at the forefront.

And so it is gratifying, and positive for Bond in the medium-to-long term, that Skyfall is a film willing to try new things, and to imbue them with substance beyond the posh wrist accessories. Gone is the major focus on Bond's love life: there's no deep investment in a Vesper equivalent here and an early conquest doesn't even get to speak, let alone receive something as frivolously unnecessary as a name. There's constant reference too - too often in fact - to the heritage, to Bond getting on a bit, Skyfall being a film very self-aware that this a franchise in its fiftieth year.

Replacing Vesper as the moral guidance that brings a wild agent to do honorable deeds is M (Judi Dench). Yes, that's right: the 'romance' here is between Craig and Dench, as Bond takes a wild departure into exploring hereditary, history and maternal love. The two might not end up in the sack together (spoiler!) but, nevertheless, M is after Bond on behalf of her country and Bond is after M from a feeling of noble duty, patriotism and, yes, love. In the finale a gravestone is glimpsed that might hint at something the film wisely decides not to even bother explicitly discussing. It doesn't need to. The idea is there for those who want to see it.

That finale is perhaps the most clearly problematic area of Skyfall, although there are plenty of others - this is a difficult film to love at first glance, and unlike so many Bonds in so many ways. Isolated by choice, Bond lays his traps like Macaulay Caulkin in Home Alone and a grumpy Scotsman (Albert Finney) comes out of hibernation to make his mark on the franchise. It's one stab towards Bond's meta-history too many. Come in Mr Connery, your time is up.

Just after this introduction director Sam Mendes shows off his best piece of visual flair, calling to mind the oil fields in Jarhead. In the most part though, Skyfall is not a film where Mendes and cinematographer Roger Deakins are here to show off their lens work. Mendes brings his mastery of simple drama instead, and applies it to the Bond formula and the results verge from sublime to forced. Bond, M, Mallory (Ralph Fiennes) and their arc are all sublime. Tanner (Rory Kinnear) and, even more so, Eve (Naomie Harris) feel forced.

Other individual problems range from Javier Bardem's incredible villain, Silva, getting far too little screentime (he doesn't appear till, when, the end of the first hour?) and his motivations being slight, to the scene which features komodo dragons, recalling, apparently without thought, the crocodile-stepping scene in Live And Let Die. Bérénice Marlohe is lovely but she has more facial ticks and eyebrow raises than your average Roger Moore.

For a film though that risks it all to an extent, and is indeed, a world away from Quantum Of Solace, the fact that its problems boil down to those of forked tongue and some bad character balancing is commendable. This has heart, action and surprise, and all of them in different measures and in different ways than normal. Bond has, arguably, finally grown up. Does that mean he's cut back on the Martinis? Not a chance.